So I’ve been missing lately due to family issues and all that. I won’t go into detail, but I am ghastly low in funds, meaning I don’t have any left hahaha. Anyway, I am opening commissions for ALL pictures, meaning I’ll do ANYTHING shown below. The current commissions I have will all be completed early to mid next week. Sorry, I’ve been pretty stressed lately.
I need to make $500, but anything that gets to at least $200 or even $150 would be ok enough. I really, REALLY appreciate you all in advance! All the information is below! I don’t normally ask this ever, but if you’d be so kind to pass this around, I’d greatly appreciate it!
All couples commission examples below are M/M, but are not explicit.
A $22 commission would get you:
Black and White Bust
Sketch w/colours Bust
A $32 commission would get you: Everything above, but with two characters instead of one. EXAMPLES:
Also! On special, I’m willing to do skull shots of your creature/animal/human These are selling for $30.00:
I will do almost anything* as long as it’s not too out there.
*no scat, golden showers, hyper inflation, mpreg, shotacon, loli, ‘extreme things,’ etc.
Please also realise that the pictures above may have backgrounds, but these commissions will only have a simple pattern or colour/gradient background.
I take paypal. Sadly, I don’t have one of my own, but you can send it to my friend’s account. I will give you the address when you message me. I take half payment up front and the other half once the colours are completed. Thanks~!
Additional Characters - $15 - $30 per character depending on details Background - $15 - $30 depending on details
Softcore/Hardcore BL/GL, Softcore/Hardcore Het*, Nudity, General, OC, Fanart, Monsters, Mecha *Will only draw if the women are NOT being demeaned
Will Not Draw:
Scat, hardcore guro, frot, anything relating to: faeces, babies, children (shota/loli), vomit, pee, stuff like that
•The examples shown above are just for ref purposes. The style may have changed since the references shown due to learning new skills.
•I will show you the sketch for your approval. You may have the sketch adjusted up to two times for free. All adjustments afterwards will be considered as additional add-ons and will be $7.00 per change. Once the sketch has been approved and the colouring is complete, you may request small adjustments such as: eye/hair/skin/accessory colours, size of nose/eyes/ears/etc. If you choose to change the sketch at that point, it will be considered a new picture and the charges above will apply.
•Half payment up front before the picture is started. Once the picture is completed, I will send you a small, heavily watermarked version of the complete picture. Once you approve it, the other half of the payment is owed. Upon receipt of the second half payment, I will send you the high-resolution picture.
•The best way to reach me is through firstname.lastname@example.org. I’ve noticed LJ is quite glitchy and I haven’t received a few PMs sent to me.
so i’m texting this friend i know well but not THAT well and i was asking her ‘do you want to go do x haha’ and for some reason my phone autocorrects ‘haha’ to ‘AHAHAHADKSHFDBJFDKSS’ because of this one time
so now i am too embarrassed to be ilke HAHA WELL MY PHONE IS SO ZANY I AM NOT INSANE…
SORRY FOR THE REPOST I JUST WANTED to add a little bit of story shimmy and i wrote in case anyone wanted to know some background stuffs about this project (EVEN IF IT IS A VAGUE SNIPPET)
Constant shoots someone’s horse.
It’s just some farmer, who screams at Constant about pointing his rifle into the woods until Jasper makes an appearance, chewing on a single strand of wheat.
Then he straightens and immediately hunches, practically cowering.
Jasper doesn’t know when the older folks in the town started going from praising him to being terrified of him. It’s a blank in his mind that hurts when he tries to think about, stinging curls of smoke there, too.
Jasper levels his gaze at Constant. The boy won’t look at him. Jasper spits.
'You shoot this man's horse, boy?' he asks.
Constant stares at the ground. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says.
Walt: Jesse, I am sorry that I am a mean old man. I care about you deeply as if you were my own son, and I’m scared right now because my life is spiraling out of my control. I finally had a handle on things again, and I’m so desperate to not lose my grip that I’ve compromised the most important friendship and partnership I’ve ever had in my life for the sake of my own pride.
Jesse: Walt, I’m sorry I got upset with you. You’re the first person in my life who’s ever made me feel like I can do anything worth doing, and to see you lose faith in me and doubt my loyalty to you drove me over the edge. You believed in me when no one else would, when I most needed it.
Utilizing Dark Souls' game-invading mechanic to their advantage, the folks at From Software keep early Japanese players in check by sending the most powerful Black Phantoms possible into their games. The folks at Edge compared one of the invaders’ stats (level 145, 1900HP, and all abilities at the maximum 99) to their reviewers, and they didn’t even come close, even after 60 hours of play.
once again, another part of my start posting the stuff that is gathering dust or you’ll just have to stop living with yourself movement. i apologize in advance for just about everything in this. there is no mpreg this time, but there is: justice and sebastian on a plane; some varric/anders; twilight references; ashaad and saemus; rickrolling; teagan; zombie apocalypses; aus of aus; and some highschool stuff. these are for honeydipper, ofminorstature, anonymous, rhiannon42, p1013, thessilian, seawitchery, allthechantry, anonymous, and katiebour. thanks for being patient and for giving such totally cool awesome fantabulouso prompts! these have existed for some time it’s just me, posting, things, stuff, excuses, i’m sorry, i hope you enjoy them, AUGHfkjhjdhhg keysmash, posting now before i wee-wee-wee all the way home instead.
HONEYDIPPER: Anders/Hawke, in an au of your Mud and Sand au! But the twist is that Hawke is a fellow magistrate, instead of a gladiator-turned-slave.
They first flirted over a glass of spiced wine late in summer, after spending far too many parties watching each other through the crowds—past oiled slaves and flute-girls, glimpses caught between trays of fruit and whispering Asariel silks. The Agreggio was heady and warm, heated by the fire and Hawke’s broad hands, the hint of nutmeg and honey that made Anders’s eyes water.
Hawke kept his rings on that night, magister rings of arcane energy and power, but they forgot their staffs somewhere between the door and the bed, Anders’s robes bunched up around his thighs, as Hawke said, ‘Welcome to Tevinter.’
OFMINORSTATURE: UH UH HOW ABOUT carver/garrett, high school au because i am unoriginal but have very specifically weird wants and needs ;A;
The team gets crushed Carver’s first game, and Coach tells them not to take it personally, that losing’s just one roadblock in the way of winning. But what Coach Cullen doesn’t know is that Garrett’s in the bleachers, drinking cocoa with Anders—and neither of them even wanted to come to the game in the first place, much less show up to see Carver get his face shoved into mud under the night-lights.
‘Good game,’ Garrett says, slinging an arm around Carver’s shoulders, padded and grass-stained, and leans closer when he adds, ‘I think it’s a dumb sport, anyway.’
ANONYMOUS: fenris/anders, modern AU.
The free clinic wasn’t the place to meet people—not unless you liked your dates tall, dark and bleeding—and Anders didn’t prefer to know every last detail of someone’s sexual history before the first kiss.
That always killed the romance.
Most of the patients cleared out long past the appropriate hour for late dinner and a later movie, anyway, and Anders was rubbing the dark circles under his eyes without checking the clock, hair falling loose from behind his ear, when he saw his final appointment for the day: clipboard and pen clutched one in each slim hand, not a single word written on the insurance forms beyond a rickety L written under FIRST NAME.
RHIANNON42: For your meme: Hawke/Anders, modern-day zombie apocalypse AU.
Hawke’s motorcycle’s rusted, almost out of gas, D.O.G. plastered on the side in peeling silver, sparking and grunting like a dying animal as he revs the engine one last time. ‘Won’t leave him behind,’ he says, shouldering the shotgun he pried out of a dead man’s hands a few miles back, ‘but it looks like we’re heading the rest of the way on foot.’
The sun’s just cresting its final height in the sky, air shimmering above rank garbage in the open road, empty horizon no matter which way they turn—and all Anders can think is that he’ll miss the feel of Hawke’s waist held in the circle of his arms, the steady beating of his heart through his ribcage in the back, alive like no one else in the Free Marches is anymore.
okay so! slight preamble, i actually had a different third installment in mind and then this sort of…wrote itself. so there’s that, and it happens to double as my excuse for why none of these actually involve sex. every time (WITHOUT FAIL) i start out writing with romantic scenarios in mind and then it’s just five hundred words of harry doofing around and nathan being oblivious. that being said i hope someone…somewhere… finds this enjoyable. flynn’s quote at the end comes from the good, the bad and the ugly, which is a fun way to describe nate, chloe and flynn if you’re looking to get punched in the head. there may be a phantom fourth part in which something actually romantic happens, but for now i bid you all a fond adieu, and thank you for reading!
for choowy, shimmy, and ademska, card-carrying members of the world’s teeniest fandom.
Things go wrong north of Chimbote, days from the border and weeks before they’re due to meet Chloe with the seaplane that’ll have them out of Peru. Nathan rolls the jeep off-road; it’s a diversion that knocks the air from his lungs, leaves Harry with a gash on his forehead that dribbles blood down into his right eye.
He can hear the men who ambushed them swearing, hacking at the wide green leaves and thick jungle vines with machetes, spraying the land near the burnt-out husk of the jeep with staccato bursts of machine-gun fire. But he’s got Incan gold from the Temple of the Sun in his satchel, and Harry’s still got the idol he snaked from Macchu Pichu. It’s not the worst night Nathan’s had, even if it isn’t the best, either.
They crawl on their bellies through the jungle, slithering along the glossy canopy of dirt, mulch, and shiny beetles big enough to fight Nathan for his gold. Halfway to the coast, Harry starts whistling something that’s either Rule Britannia, or Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head, like he’s Butch, and Nathan’s Sundance, and this is all just another one of his fantasies come to life.
Nathan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then spits dirt and blood. Harry’s fantasies suck, and if they make it out of this one alive, Nathan’s going to be the first one to tell him.
He falls asleep against an old tree, with thick old roots like a sea monster’s tentacles wrapped around him. ‘I’ll take first watch, Sleeping Beauty,’ Harry says, and Nathan believes him, because they’re all each other’s got out here in the middle of nowhere.
It’s almost daylight when Harry shakes him awake. In the streaky gray dawn, his eye looks even worse, crusty gobs of dried blood sealing it half shut, but he’s grinning like a madman. A spike of cold fear cuts through Nathan’s sleep-heavy haze, but it disappears as quick as it came, like a hotel ice cube on hot skin.
‘I took care of our search party,’ Harry says, twirling a 9mm automatic like he’s John Wayne and not Harry Flynn, bleeding from a head wound and stinking like jungle fungus. There’s blood on his hands that wasn’t there the night before, and he leans too close to Nathan, so he can smell the coppery tang off his skin.
‘What did you do, Flynn?’ Nathan asks, swallowing against the lump in his throat. There were at least seven men in that search party and he’s a thief, not a murderer. Not on purpose, anyway.
‘There are two kinds of people in this world, my friend,’ Harry says. His fingers stain Nathan’s shirt when he touches it, palm roving over his chest. ‘Those with loaded guns, and those who dig.’ When Harry laughs, it’s soft, with nothing in the air to tell he’s using someone else’s words with his own clever tongue. ‘You just be grateful there weren’t pieces big enough to bury—else I’d be sending you to find a shovel. You have to learn to look on the bright side, my friend.’
The scary thing is, Nathan’s not so sure he’s wrong.
I CARRY MY CARD LOUD AND PROUD and feverishly hope you will be back with more ;w; oh gosh this is so amazingly LAYERED AND FOREBODING kjshkjdshkdh this is my secret canon okay it is impossible to change it now… just… all of it
part 2. what kind of an idiot would trust harry flynn to tie them up? i believe we all know the answer to that question. if i was smart these would actually tie in to the dollars films in some way but they don’t really. this is for a few dollars more i guess but if we’re being honest, each separate part is more like the good, the bad, and the ugly. (coming soon to a tumblr near you!) for shoomy this time because i’m too lazy to type two names and i find name-smushes secretly adorable.
They’re testing zip-ties, because handcuffs are so 20th century now and Harry, despite his fondness for Ye Olde British Empire, likes to stay modern. The hard plastic cuts into Nathan’s wrists and cuts off his circulation. It’s not fun, it’s just uncomfortable, and Harry just sits there, toying with the kitchen scissors instead of cutting him out immediately like he promised.
‘Flynn, come on,’ Nathan says, hands wriggling weakly in his lap. They’re probably turning purple. He can feel his pulse up and down his arms. ‘I’m gonna get gangrene over here.’
‘Reach for the sky, pilgrim,’ Harry says. He plants the scissors on the dresser, straddling Nathan’s waist to yank his hands up over his head.
Nathan goes still, eyes falling shut, so all he can hear is the television in the background, Ennio Morricone’s score rambling along like tumbleweeds in the wind, and Harry’s hot breath against his stubbling cheek.
‘Do you feel lucky, punk?’ Harry adds, English accent muted beneath the Southern drawl he’s been practicing.
Nathan tries not to think about the blood rushing from his hands, or Harry’s weight in his lap, both making his heartbeat stutter in his chest like a burst of pistol fire at high noon.
‘You’re mixing genres,’ he mutters instead, and Harry scoffs, lancing through his restraints with the knife he keeps in his belt.
SCREAMS this is so brilliant this is
i can’t handle it and i am seriously loving the theme going on here ahhh with the similes and metaphors and just amazing, snappy dialogue.
a smallish thing for choowy. maybe this will be a trilogy. like the dollars trilogy. i love westerns and so does flynn now.
Harry has a thing about Westerns.
Nathan doesn’t get it. The guy goes on and on about shitty American beer, and shitty American pub food, the way everyone’s too focused on the wrong kind of football and no one knows how to brew a good spot of tea, but every time there’s a Sergio Leone marathon on Turner Classics, Harry shuts off his phone and parks his butt for the weekend.
‘You weren’t answering your calls,’ Nathan says. He throws his spare key onto the coffee table. Harry doesn’t even look up. ‘I figured you were—you know—tied up. Metaphorically, if not literally.’
‘Uh huh,’ Harry says. He’s bitten his thumbnail down to the quick, cuticle red and raw all around the rim. He isn’t listening, won’t even deign to pretend. ‘That’s brilliant, mate. Listen, you’re just in time for A Fistful of Dollars, so why don’t you make some popcorn, wipe your nose, and sit down on the couch like a good little lady.’
‘I’ll give you a fistful, all right,’ Nathan mutters, but he’s already on his way to the kitchen, waving surrender before he can blink.
oh GOODNESS YOU ARE SO FREAKING FAST how do i know such amazing talented people it boggles my mind!! you have SUCH A GOOD GRASP on their voices dskdajhdkad i am so excited for the potential of more!
a millionty years back i took those milestone requests, and neonowls was (HOPEFULLY STILL IS!) a fan of the nanders, so i thought, all right! i’ll write the lovely neonowls some nanders! so much time has passed and this little thing got…massively out of control, more than a ficlet should be, more than it was supposed to be. BUT NOW IT IS NATHANIEL HOWE WEEK, and i could not let my love of the man, the nose, the legend go by without contributing something. so! this is a link to the story on AO3. i swear i write more than silly awakening things! except i’m in such a silly awakening mood lately. i dunno. stop talking shimmy and post this before you chicken out ALL RIGHT THEN!
CELESTIAL BODIES, ~12,000 words, Anders/Nathaniel Howe, mostly PG-13. Anders keeps count of all the times he flirts with Nathaniel Howe, which is—coincidentally—all the times Nathaniel Howe doesn’t flirt back.
Anders had been flirting with Nathaniel Howe for a while now, to absolutely no effect.
The more persistent his advances, the more unsubtle and embarrassingly overt, the more oblivious Nathaniel became, to the point where—if Anders believed the man had any sense of humor whatsoever—it began to feel like a purposeful joke.
Anders imagined himself saying Good one, Nathaniel, and clapping the man on the back; then he laughed hard enough that the dwarf made a noise like he was having difficulty going to the bathroom.
It served Anders right for enjoying himself when there was still sort of a Blight on. Good to know the Maker was always there to get one in, when he could have been saving defenseless kittens from darkspawn slaughter or helping the mages not be trapped in lonely towers all the time.
‘Do you find this task funny, Anders?’ Nathaniel asked.
Anders sighed. ‘It never is, when you’re around,’ he replied. ‘No need to worry about that.’
shimmy, how are you so compelling and hilarious at the same time? i love the way shimmy writes awakening anders or awakening characters in general SO MUCH, and this fic is one of the many examples of evidence why.